


Wild Eyes, Wild Hearts

by JaskierOfRivia



Series: feral Geralt [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Geralt actually talks about his feelings, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: Jaskier is sure he dreamt how Geralt looked when he returned to their camp at night, with too sharp teeth and feral eyes and claws, his teeth and hands covered in blood.He's sure, until he's not.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: feral Geralt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666309
Comments: 40
Kudos: 774





	Wild Eyes, Wild Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> People keep talking about the idea of a feral Geralt over on twitter, and it just got stuck in my head and I loved it so much that I had to write it! This will also become a bit of a series for me. Hope you enjoy!

It was past midnight by the time Geralt returned to their camp. It had been the dead of night when he’d snuck off, too, quietly so as not to wake Jaskier, the bard snuggled under his own jacket and several blankets for warmth. Jaskier had woken up himself not long after, whether by coincidence or because he sensed the strong presence of Geralt was no longer there, they would never know. But when Jaskier woke, and saw Geralt’s empty bedroll illuminated by their nearly burnt out campfire, he panicked some. A million different reasons for Geralt being gone raced through Jaskier’s mind, each one more horrible than the last.

Jaskier tried to focus his all-too-human eyes, waking himself up enough to take stock of the situation. Roach was still right beside their camp, sound asleep. Geralt would _never_ leave Roach behind (not that he’d leave Jaskier behind, not anymore, the bard would remember later). In fact, the only things missing besides Geralt himself were his swords and his bag of Witcher’s potions.

Jaskier relaxed some then, settling back down into his bedroll and blankets, although he kept his eyes half open and his ears pricked, monitoring for any sign of Geralt’s return.

When Geralt did return, his swords were strapped to his back, and he carried something large and presumably heavy in his arms. Geralt was careful to stay around the edge of the camp, as far from Jaskier and even Roach as possible. Curious now, Jaskier watched the Witcher, making sure not to move too much or make a sound lest he alert Geralt that he was awake. Geralt gently set down whatever he was carrying and turned slightly towards Jaskier, so that the dwindling campfire and moonlight illuminated his face just enough.

Jaskier was so startled, so shocked by how Geralt looked, that he was sure he was dreaming. Geralt’s eyes were _wild_ , the pupils even more narrow than normal, something even less human than normal behind them. Animalistic, feral… so Geralt and so _not_ Geralt all at once. Geralt stretched his fingers out, as if trying to work out any kinks or strained muscles, and Jaskier saw _them_ , too. Not normal human nails, like Jaskier usually saw at the end of Geralt’s fingers. No, Geralt had _claws_ , or talons, or whatever you wanted to call them. Geralt’s _claws_ (Jaskier couldn’t believe he was thinking that word about his friend), were covered in blood, the blood of whatever Geralt had brought back to camp with him, still wet, still dripping.

This was a part of Geralt’s mutations, it had to be. Whatever mutagens he had been given to make him faster, stronger, enhanced all his senses, they had to have done this to him. Whether other Witchers were like Geralt, Jaskier had no idea. He suspected not; he was sure there would be stories about Witchers with claws and wild eyes, were there more out in the world. Even if they weren’t as eloquent as any story or song that Jaskier would ever write.

Jaskier continued to watch Geralt through half-closed eyes, lest the Witcher realise that he was awake. He had to squint to see Geralt in the rapidly dwindling firelight. Not for the first time, he wished he had Geralt’s nightvision. Geralt knelt down beside whatever he had brought back to camp with him, his back to Jaskier. Geralt raised one arm, his claws glinting in the moon and firelight, before bringing it down and slicing into whatever he had brought with him. He cut with a practiced precision, something that told Jaskier that Geralt had done this many times before. Skinning some sort of animal, maybe?

Finally, Geralt finished whatever he was doing and rose to his feet, turning enough that Jaskier could make out his face. The bard almost let out a startled cry, but luckily he clamped it down immediately. He was almost certain that if Geralt realised that Jaskier was watching him, this would be the last time they would see each other for a while. Possibly forever.

But when Geralt had turned, his mouth was slightly open, and Jaskier could see _fangs_ protruding from within. Too long, too sharp, too wild, too _feral_. They were stained in blood, too, and Jaskier wondered dimly whether Geralt had used his fangs to rip some poor animal’s throat out.

 _No wonder cats hate him,_ Jaskier thought to himself. _They sense danger. They sense predator. They run._

So why wasn’t Jaskier running?

Geralt froze suddenly, not moving a muscle, and Jaskier instantly closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, worried that Geralt had realised he was awake. Whether Geralt realised or not, the sound of his footsteps seemed to indicate he was moving away from Jaskier, possibly to retrieve something from Roach’s saddlebags. Whatever Geralt was doing, Jaskier didn’t dare open his eyes again. 

***

The next thing Jaskier knew, sunlight was breaking in under his eyelids. He opened them slowly, glancing around their little campsite. Geralt was already awake, sitting cross legged on the ground, sharpening his steel sword. 

“Morning,” said Geralt, his eyes flickering over to Jaskier before looking back down at his sword again.

Jaskier studied Geralt closely. His eyes were back to normal (well, as normal as they could be). They looked perfectly calm, and as human as Geralt’s eyes could possibly look. Not a hint of extra wildness or feral nature about them. Jaskier could see Geralt’s fingers where they wrapped around his sword and his whetstone, and they ended in perfectly normal, _clean_ human fingernails. Not a bloodstain or claw in sight. And Geralt’s teeth, visible in his half-open mouth, were perfectly normal, perfectly human. Definitely not capable of ripping some animal’s throat out. 

In fact, the only sign of what Jaskier may or may not have seen the night before was the large animal carcass lying on the edge of the camp. The body had been stripped clean, and was now just a pile of bones. In the daylight, Jaskier could tell that the carcass was once a deer. Geralt had clearly stripped the deer of its meat, doing whatever he needed to do to it so they could eat it later, taking whatever other parts they could use or sell, and buried or destroyed what was left so scavengers or monsters wouldn’t come looking for it.

“When did you kill that?” Jaskier asked, gesturing towards the deer carcass.

“Last night,” Geralt answered, and Jaskier felt a slight chill go down his spine. _Last night._ Jaskier knew he had a _look_ on his face, expressive as it was, but luckily Geralt was still sharpening his sword and didn’t notice. “I could hear it, and smell it, so close to our camp. I couldn’t pass up that opportunity to get us some more food, not when we could be days from the next town, if we’re lucky. Plus I can use some of the other parts, and anything I can’t use, we can sell.”

 _Enhanced Witcher senses. Makes sense,_ Jaskier thought to himself. But still, he was troubled. Jaskier had _definitely_ seen what he had seen. While his eyes weren’t mutated like Geralt’s were, he had excellent vision, and they hadn’t failed him yet.

“How did you kill it, though?” Jaskier asked before he could stop himself, confused.

Geralt stared at Jaskier, not blinking at all, almost worrying a hole in his head with his vision. _Shit._ Jaskier had said too much. He’d slipped up, accidentally admitted to Geralt what he’d seen. Geralt was going to escort him to the next town and leave him there, never to be seen again, or was going to tell him to fuck off right now. Instead, though, Geralt just gestured to his sword, a confused look on his face. “With _this_ ,” he said. “Did you roll off your bedroll and hit your head in your sleep, Jaskier?”

“Still not properly awake,” Jaskier commented, flashing his customary grin. “I did just arouse from my slumber, Mister Big Swords.”

Geralt groaned, going back to sharpening his sword. “It’s too early for your jokes, Jaskier.”

Jaskier let out a small sigh of relief. The tense moment had passed, and he and Geralt weren’t about to permanently part ways. Geralt’s reaction had left Jaskier with another thought though: had he dreamt what he saw last night?

For Jaskier had definitely seen what he saw last night. Wild, feral eyes (even for Geralt), and fangs and claws covered in blood that wasn’t Geralt’s own. Was it possible that Jaskier had woken up _just_ enough to see Geralt return with the deer, and his brain had conjured up the rest in the form of a dream? It had seemed so _real_ , but Jaskier had had very vivid dreams before this (the product of having a very imaginative and creative brain).

 _Geralt is no feral animal_ , Jaskier thought to himself. _He is mutated, yes, but he isn’t what I thought I saw. There’s been no sign of anything like that before now, and by Melitele, it would’ve come in handy more than a few times. It was just a dream. It must have been._

“Come back out of your head, Jaskier,” said Geralt with a laugh. Jaskier jerked himself back to reality. Geralt had put away his sword and his whetstone and was standing over Jaskier, breakfast in hand. “Time to eat. We need to be on the road soon.”

Jaskier took the food with a nod and a smile, digging in gratefully. Geralt rarely joked as it was, and basically only when he was in a good mood. Surely he wouldn’t joke right now if he was terrified that Jaskier had discovered his secret? It really _had_ been a dream, then.

“You’re thinking a lot for this early in the morning, Jaskier,” Geralt commented, finishing his own breakfast rather quickly and setting about packing Roach’s saddlebags.

“Thought of a good idea for a new song in my sleep,” Jaskier lies effortlessly. “Trying to build on it before it slips away.” While Jaskier was now sure that he had dreamt what he’d seen the night before, he didn’t think Geralt would like the idea of being some sort of feral animal. He thought of himself as a monster enough as it was. 

“Well, at least you’re thinking _and_ eating this morning,” Geralt said, tugging the remains of Jaskier’s breakfast out of his hands as soon as he was done. “Come on, make sure you pack everything. I want to make it to a particular clearing by nightfall. There are rumours of certain spectres around the roads we’re going to be travelling on, and I’d rather not have to deal with them when we’re this far from a town, especially without a contract.” Geralt’s eyes lingered on Jaskier, then, and Jaskier heard the words Geralt didn’t speak.

_If the spectres hurt me, I can deal with it. If they hurt you, we may not make it in time to get you help._

Jaskier quickly got to his feet, busying himself with packing his belongings, including his lute. If he felt Geralt’s molten gaze on him while he packed, lingering as he gently caressed his lute, as he bent over his bags, he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d felt Geralt watching him. Not lately, anyway.

As the two men left camp, Jaskier in his now customary place on Roach behind Geralt with his arms around the Witcher’s middle, Jaskier looked back at the deer carcass.

 _It certainly_ looks _like it was picked clean with a knife, not claws and razor sharp teeth,_ Jaskier thought to himself. And with that, Jaskier pushes his visions of a feral Geralt from his mind.

***

True to Geralt’s prediction, it took the two men two day’s ride to reach the next town. The deer Geralt caught and killed came in plenty handy; they ate it for dinner both nights on the road. And when they _reached_ the town, any parts that Geralt himself couldn’t use made them enough money for meals and several tankards of ale.

The town they had arrived in was one of the bigger ones, too, with multiple inns and other establishments where Jaskier could ply his trade and make them some serious coin. Geralt was there for every performance, every show, sitting in a dark corner and brooding, like he had been when they first met. Geralt hadn’t always been there for every show, when they first began travelling together, even though Jaskier was earning money for the both of them. Geralt used to go off for food elsewhere, try and find a new contract, or even visit the local brothel. But now he was always in his corner, watching and listening with all of his enhanced senses, his eyes never leaving Jaskier.

Jaskier was even more convinced now that what he had seen that night had been a dream. There was no way that absolutely _feral_ man that Jaskier had seen that night- the man with wild animal eyes, too-sharp teeth and _claws_ \- would sit silent in the corner of every establishment they entered and watch his bard perform.

(Jaskier also wondered dimly when he’d become Geralt’s bard, and not just a bard who happened to follow Geralt around for his songs. Probably about the same time they’d stopped parting at the end of every adventure or when there was no work to be done for either of them, Jaskier surmised. When they’d started spending time together because they _enjoyed each other’s company_.)

And yet… yet Geralt still held Jaskier at arm’s length. Jaskier could sense that there were still things that Geralt was holding back. Things he wasn’t showing him. Things he wasn’t _telling_ him. Jaskier knew a large part of that was fear. Fear of the unknown, of having been alone for so long he didn’t know _how_ to be around another person for so long, to share his life and his thoughts and his feelings with that person, friend or otherwise. Jaskier also knew that it was fear that one day he’d push Jaskier too far, that he’d tell or show Jaskier something about himself or his life or about Witchers that would send Jaskier running for the hills. There was something else there, too, some other layer of fear, but Jaskier couldn’t tell what it was.

Jaskier couldn’t be annoyed or angry or frustrated at Geralt, though. No, not all. Jaskier was afraid, too. Afraid that he himself would one day push _Geralt_ too far, try to get him to open up too much or show him too much of Jaskier. Afraid that one day Geralt would decide he didn’t want Jaskier to be around anymore, that he wanted to be alone again and tell Jaskier to fuck off.

 _We’ll break through our fear together one day, Geralt,_ Jaskier thought to himself, watching the Witcher from across the inn. _One day_.

Three days later, three days after they had arrived in town and five days after Jaskier’s dream of Geralt, Geralt and Jaskier still hadn’t left. Geralt had heard of a contract not too far away, but it seemed to be a complicated one, and he needed to gather more information before they left. Besides, the longer they were in town, the more performances Jaskier could put on, and the more money they could earn. It was a win win, really.

Despite the fact that he knew it was a dream though, a dream that he’d had _five days ago_ , Jaskier still couldn’t get the image of a feral Geralt out of his head. He couldn’t help but think that _if_ Geralt was feral, it would be part of the reason for his fear. He had been so wild, so animalistic, even more so than a Witcher normally was. And Jaskier… wasn’t scared. Not even a little bit. Even with a potentially feral side, dream-Geralt had had many opportunities to hurt or kill Jaskier, but he never had. Instead, he’d sniffed out a deer, and gone to _get him and Jaskier food_.

No, Jaskier was not scared of a potentially feral Geralt, even though he knew such a thing did not exist. Because a feral Geralt was still Geralt, and Geralt would never hurt Jaskier.

Finally, Geralt was fully prepared for his contract, Jaskier had played himself hoarse and built up calluses on his fingers, and the two of them headed out on the Path again. Jaskier took up his position on Roach behind Geralt, arms around the Witcher, but he didn’t take up his usual prattling or singing. Instead, he made no sound at all.

After an usually long time spent riding in silence, surprisingly it was Geralt that broke it. “You’re thinking about something,” he pointed out. Jaskier didn’t bother to deny it; Geralt was right, after all. Not that he was going to tell Geralt exactly what he was thinking about.

“Just about you. Thinking about what kind of song I can write about your latest adventure,” Jaskier half-lied.

“Hmm.” Jaskier was pretty sure that Geralt knew he wasn’t being entirely honest, but the Witcher didn’t press the matter. They continued to ride in silence, Jaskier occasionally puncturing it with a snippet of one of his songs or what he considered a witty quip, partly just to stop Geralt wondering what was going on in Jaskier’s head. Jaskier’s dream, Geralt, back to the dream, whatever monster they were on their way to hunt down, back to Geralt again… Jaskier was pretty sure Geralt didn’t want to know most of what he was thinking about, and Jaskier didn’t what to know what they were hunting down until _after_ it was dead. He was scared enough as it was.

It was around noon when they stopped for lunch, the sun hanging high overhead. The two men lent against a pair of trees on the edge of the forest, digging into the food they’d bought from the inn for their journey. Jaskier was relaxed, content, all thoughts of a feral Geralt pushed from his mind. Even Geralt seemed relaxed (well, as much as he could possibly be on the way to a hunt, anyway), digging into his food. His steel sword was lying against a rock right near Geralt, who had decided to sit next to Jaskier to eat. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile when he realised Geralt was right beside him.

Jaskier didn’t hear the noise until Geralt was shoving him out of the way, sending the steel sword clattering away and out of Geralt’s reach. Before Jaskier knew it, the wolves and wargs were surrounding them, snarling, pacing, ready to attack and shred them to pieces. And _Geralt didn’t have his sword._

Two of the beasts broke away from the rest of the pack, stalking towards Jaskier. They knew they didn’t have to rush at him; while Jaskier wasn’t defenceless, he wasn’t fast enough for them. They’d have their feast soon enough, especially with Geralt being unarmed.

Suddenly, a long, low growl emanated from behind Jaskier. A warning: _back off_. Rather than being afraid, though, Jaskier felt safe, protected. It was that that made Jaskier realise. The growl wasn’t from one of the wolves or the wargs.

It was Geralt.

Jaskier slowly turned around to face the Witcher. His eyes weren’t just golden; the pupils were slits, the look wild and animalistic. As Geralt snarled and snapped at the beasts that surrounded them, Jaskier could see those long, deadly and pointed canines, the razor sharp teeth that filled his mouth. Geralt raised his hands, poised to strike, Jaskier could see that his fingers ended in claws. Ready to rip, tear and kill. Ready to protect himself and Jaskier. 

_It wasn’t a dream. I did see what I thought I saw that night. There is a feral side to Geralt. It wasn’t a dream._

The next thing Jaskier knew Geralt was flying forward, throwing himself into the wargs and the wolves, ripping and tearing and snarling and biting. Jaskier backed against a tree, using the trunk as a sort of protective barrier even as he watched Geralt. Geralt’s claws ripped into the beasts, drawing blood and pained snarls. Geralt’s teeth, so strong, so sharp, so dangerous, so deadly, ripped out flesh and blood and _lives_.

Geralt was feral, ending lives left and right with his bare hands and his teeth, and yet… yet Jaskier wasn’t afraid. Not of Geralt, anyway. He was afraid of the wolves and the wargs, yes, but not of the Witcher that was killing them without his swords or his signs or his potions. Jaskier knew that Geralt was dangerous and deadly, but not to Jaskier himself. He _protected_ Jaskier. He hunted and killed _for_ Jaskier. He may have been feral, but he was still Geralt of Rivia, and Geralt was the greatest man Jaskier had ever known.

In what was probably no time at all but felt like an eternity to Jaskier, probably because of how transfixed he was, every wolf and warg had fallen, and Geralt was the only one left. He stood there, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his mouth and his hands. And then his wild eyes found Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered, almost growled, watching the bard warily. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier answered. “Not a scratch on me. Thanks.” Jaskier studied Geralt, looking him up and down, gaze lingering on Geralt’s hands and face.

Geralt felt Jaskier’s stare, felt him studying his changed features, and lowered his eyes. “I never wanted you to find out about this,” he said. Jaskier saw the wildness begin to fade from Geralt’s eyes.

“No, don’t,” Jaskier insisted. Geralt stopped, confused, letting the wild look seep back in. “Don’t just hide this, like the other parts of you that you think I won’t like or will scare me away. I want to see.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt sighed, but he remained where he was, flexing his fingers, watching the bard. Jaskier slowly stepped forward, not wanting to scare Geralt or let him change his mind. Each step was slow, slow, slow, until Jaskier reached the animalistic, wild man. Geralt of Rivia. His Witcher. His friend. His _Geralt_.

Finally, Jaskier reached Geralt. He reached out with a surprisingly steady hand, touching it to Geralt’s cheek. “May I?” he asked. When he felt Geralt nod, Jaskier reached for Geralt’s mouth, pressing his fingers gently on the bottom of Geralt’s canines. “So sharp…” he whispered.

Geralt didn’t say anything; the task would be rather difficult, what with Jaskier’s fingers in his mouth. He just breathed heavily, eyes focused on Jaskier, searching for any sign of fear. But Jaskier wasn’t afraid. He continued to feel the sharpness of Geralt’s fangs with a wonderous, morbid fascination. He felt the animal blood dripping onto his fingers, but he didn’t care.

Finally, Jaskier removed his fingers from Geralt’s mouth. The Witcher continued to stare at him, feral features still in place. “May I?” Jaskier asked again, nodding at Geralt’s hands.

“Yes,” Geralt whisper-growled, not bothering to hide anything anymore. Jaskier reached down, intertwining his own fingers with Geralt’s and bringing them closer to his face. He studied the claws, razor sharp and deadly, that could rip out Jaskier’s throat before he even had a chance to beg for mercy. Jaskier was transfixed, and not just about Geralt’s feral features.

“Is this why you’ve held me at arm’s length?” Jaskier asked. “You were afraid I’d see this, _all_ of this, this side of you, and I’d finally decide this was all too much and run away? That you’d scare me off? That I’d be too afraid?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt said warningly. Jaskier had been with Geralt for so long, he could hear the words Geralt didn’t say but still meant. _Be sure you want to go here before you do. Once the words are said, that’s it._

“I need to know, Geralt, please,” Jaskier insisted, his voice soft, gentle, _loving_. “Answer. Tell me all of it. You’ve shown me this, you can show me your heart, too. And don’t put all this away before you do, either.”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. Fine. But can we sit down first? There’s a shallow bite from a wolf on my leg that’s trying to heal, and it will go a lot better if I’m not standing on it.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. Even as they moved to lean against a tree (far away from the dead wolves and wargs), Jaskier did not let go of Geralt’s hand. Geralt let him hold on.

“I’ll start easy, Geralt,” Jaskier assured him. “Is this because of your Witcher mutations? Is that why you’re like this? Are the other Witchers like you?”

“You always ask so many questions, Jaskier,” Geralt commented, but there was no malice in his voice. There was almost… laughter. And that growl behind his voice, both animalistic and not, sounding like- well, a wolf.

“I do. And you’re going to answer them this time,” Jaskier said. “You promised. And you don’t go back on your promises.”

“I don’t. And yes, this is a part of my mutations.” Geralt sighed, stretching out the fingers on his free hand. It had been awhile since he’d spent this long in his feral form. “Witchers weren’t always like this. Someone added it in somewhere along the line, we’re not sure where, and they just found it came in handy, so… it stayed. It was too risky to remove the mutation and risk messing something else up, so they just fixed it so we only brought the feral part out when we needed it.”

“Which means that the other Witchers _are_ like you,” Jaskier surmised. “Lambert and Eskel? Vesemir? The other schools?”

“Mhmm. Don’t write a ballad about this, though. It helps our image, and our ability to get contracts, to keep this part of our mutations secret.”

“I won’t,” Jaskier promised, and Geralt knew he meant it. “I don’t want to make your life harder. I want to make it easier. Better.”

“You already do,” Geralt whispered. That was the most sincere, open, lovely thing that Geralt had ever said to Jaskier, the bard couldn’t help but freeze. “Jaskier?” Geralt sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “I took it too far.”

Geralt began to withdraw his hand, but Jaskier squeezed it, holding it in place. Geralt opened his eyes again in surprise. Confusion.

 _Hope_.

“You didn’t take it too far,” Jaskier assured him, his voice gentle. “I was just… surprised. It’s not something I would usually hear you say.”

“Hmm.” Geralt lent back against the tree stuck, as if steeling himself. “I know you’ve got more questions for me.”

“Were you afraid to show this to me?” Jaskier asked again. “Were you afraid this would be the thing that scared me off?”

“Very much so,” Geralt admitted. “You’ve already seen and learnt so much about me and my world… every time you learn something else, see something else, I think this is it. This is the thing that will push you over the edge and away from me. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“Haven’t you figured it out by now, silly Witcher?” Jaskier said, laughing. He reached out, taking Geralt’s face in his free hand and turning it forcefully so they were looking each other in the eye. Geralt let him. “You _can’t_ scare me off. I’m in this forever.”

“Hmm.” That was Geralt’s answer for most things, but it was never all that he meant. Jaskier hoped that was the case this time, too.

“I have one more question,” Jaskier said. “I need you to be honest, please. Why do you want me around all the time? Why are you so afraid of scaring me off? And how do you feel about me?”

“That’s three questions, Jaskier,” Geralt pointed out.Jaskier just glowered at him, and Geralt laughed. “I’ll still answer them, don’t worry. Before I lose all courage, before I lose the words.”

“Before you go back to just saying ‘hmm’ and ‘fuck’ all the time,” Jaskier joked. “Is this part of your feral side, too? You talk a lot more?”

“ _Four_ questions,” Geralt amended, with a quirk of his mouth. “And no. It’s just you. And the fact that since you’ve found out about all _this_ , and you haven’t run, that maybe I could get everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand, as if to reassure him that everything was going to be just fine. “I’m not going anywhere, Geralt. Talk to me. Whatever you want to say, whatever you’ve _always_ wanted to say, now’s the time to say it.”

Geralt breathed deeply, running his clawed thumb back and forth over the back of Jaskier’s hand, careful not to scratch him. “First question: I want you around all the time, because it makes me happy, and when we’re apart it _hurts_ . I’m afraid of scaring you off, because I can’t imagine my life without you in it anymore. I _need_ you, Jaskier. More than I thought it was possible for me to need anyone. Even though I told you once upon a time, that I needed no one, and the last thing I wanted was someone needing me.”

“You didn’t get that second part, either,” Jaskier said, his face dangerously close to Geralt’s, eyes flickering from Geralt’s lips and fangs, back up to his wild eyes. “Because _I_ need you.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t want that anymore,” Geralt said. Jaskier's hand started shaking, and it took him a moment to realise it was _Geralt_ . Geralt the Witcher, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, hero of so many of Jaskier’s songs, was shaking because of how scared he was. Scared of telling Jaskier the truth. Scared that even though Jaskier had seen his wild side, his eyes and his fangs and his teeth and his _growling_ , this truth would scare Jaskier away.

“I’m not leaving,” Jaskier promised. “I’m right here. Tell me the answer to my third question.”

“I love you,” Geralt whispered, so softly Jaskier almost didn’t hear it. But hear it he did. And then, a second time, when Jaskier didn’t pull away or run. “I love you, Jaskier.”

“Good,” Jaskier said. Geralt looked confused, hopeful, almost _happy_ all at once.

“Good? Why is it good? Tell me, Jaskier.”

“Because I love you too,” Jaskier said, his voice strong, sincere, happy, _loving_ all at once.

“You do?”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt's hand again to reassure him, to tell him that this was the truth. “Of course I do. Why else would I be here? Why else would I traipse to all corners of the Continent with you? Why else would I put my own life in danger? Why would I put _your_ life in danger, for having to rescue mine? I used to spend at least part of my life in luxury, but that’s not enough for me anymore. I’m here, and not in Oxenfurt or some other place, because _I love you,_ Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt’s whole body seemed to relax then, and he smiled at Jaskier, the most sincere, joyous smile that Jaskier had ever seen on the Witcher’s face. The feral features began to disappear from Geralt’s body.

“I told you that you didn’t have to put those away,” Jaskier reminded him.

“I know,” said Geralt, even as he continued to look more human (as human as Geralt could look, anyway). “But I really want to kiss you now, and I don’t want to accidentally bite off your lip or your tongue.”

“Oh. _Oh_.”

“Oh? I tell you I, Geralt of Rivia, want to kiss you, and all you can say is ‘oh’? Now who struggles to find their words?” Geralt laughed.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to kiss me,” Jaskier commented.

Geralt of Rivia, whose face was now entirely back to normal, did just that. He kissed Jaskier, and kissed him, and kissed him, and _kissed_ him, until both men had to come up for air.

Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent. “Mmm…” he groaned. “Your smell is intoxicating, Jaskier.”

“My _smell_?” Jaskier repeated, confused. “What do you mean, my smell? Do I smell bad, then?”

“No,” said Geralt, eyes still closed, still drinking in the scent. “You smell like oranges and honey with a hint of wine, but also sunshine and warmth and love and _home_ .” Geralt pressed his lips to Jaskier’s neck, and now it was the bard’s turn to groan. “I just want more and more and _more_ of it. I told you, it’s intoxicating.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure if this scent thing was a Witcher thing, a feral thing, or a Geralt thing, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Geralt; that Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. “You can have as much of it as you want,” Jaskier promised. “I won’t stop you.”

“Mmm.” Geralt breathed in again, letting out a sigh of contentment. Jaskier had never seen his Witcher so happy, and it was all because of _him._

Jaskier slowly became aware of a strange sort of rumbling sound, building from somewhere and filling their little spot. It wasn’t until he felt it beside his own body that he realised it was coming from Geralt, and he realised what the sound was.

“Geralt, are you _purring_?” Jaskier said, incredulously.

Geralt nodded warily, pulling away some to look at Jaskier, but the purring continued. “It happens sometimes when I’m happy. Very, _very_ happy. But not often. I have to be relaxed, too.” Geralt was clearly worried that this might put Jaskier off, but Jaskier smiled.

“Good. I like it,” Jaskier said. “I’m going to have to make you do that more often.” And Jaskier kissed Geralt again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, follow me on Twitter [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia) so we can yell about the Witcher together! <3


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